


Three Castiels on a Couch Sounds like the Start of a Bad Joke

by undersail2013



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Multi, OT4, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersail2013/pseuds/undersail2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cas?"<br/>"Yes, Dean?"<br/>"Are there three of you?"<br/>"Yes, Dean."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Castiels on a Couch Sounds like the Start of a Bad Joke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OneOddKitteh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOddKitteh/gifts).



> Based on this gorgeous [artwork](http://kalun52.tumblr.com/post/66481181865/finished-now-i-can-go-to-bed-i-feel) and prompted by a call for prompts by OneOddKitteh

Dean couldn’t explain the tension in his gut, like he was anxious about something. 

As he turned the corner into the TV room, though, the three bodies draped on the couch arrested him. His stomach flipped; his vision exploded into starburst. He gasped in a lungful of air, eyes falling closed. “Cas?” he drawled breathlessly. 

“Yes, Dean?”

One raised eyebrow. “Are there _three_ of you?”

“Yes, Dean.” 

A wide smirk stretched across his face, a look of shameless, undisguised glee. “Okie-dokie.” He lifted his chin slightly, lids fluttering open, to find a figure suddenly before him. He let fly a startled, “Jesus, Cas!” then a soft, “Wait. I know you.”

The figure gave him a lazy grin.

“You’re from the future,” Dean growled. “How are you here?”

The Cas who belonged to the apocalypse shushed Dean with a rough thumb on his lips. “Who are we,” he intoned, “to look a gift horse in the mouth?” He petted Dean’s lower lip with that thumb, and muttered, almost to himself, “A beautiful, gorgeous, filthy mouth.” He took a drag from his cigarette and shotgunned the smoke into Dean’s mouth, kissed him hard. Smoke poured from their nostrils. Dean felt the world sway, until he realized that future Cas had a hold on his wrist with his cigarette hand and was pulling him across the room. He reclaimed his seat on the couch, dragged Dean down to straddle his lap. Cas’ fingers fumbled at Dean’s clothing. “Jimmy, get these clothes off of him,” he commanded, while he worked on Dean’s fly. 

_Jimmy?_ Dean goggled. There, to his left; he could see that this was not another Cas, but Jimmy Novak. Rising from the couch to stand at Dean’s back, to tug at the loosened button-down. To tug his t-shirt up and off. To rest a supple hand on his shoulder. 

“I never figured you for one who liked guys,” Dean joked awkwardly.

“I could have said the same thing about you.” He tipped Dean's head backwards, stealing his mouth from future Cas, who had just figured out how to liberate Dean’s cock from his pants. Jimmy’s kiss, so tender after the rough handling from future Cas, swallowed up Dean’s moans. Jimmy kissed like a man accustomed to the soft fragility of a woman’s lips, so gentle as to make Dean squirm for more.

He found some relief as future Cas gripped them both in his right hand and squeezed confidently. Dean buried his left hand in future Cas’ greasy, too-long hair, pulling at his hair in time with the fist at his belly. 

Dean reached his free hand forward to where his own Cas slouched. _His own Cas._ He had tried so hard to avoid that moniker, and now it only made sense. _His own Cas._ He grabbed a fistful of trenchcoat and clung to his Cas like a liferaft. The world made no sense, but Cas, his Castiel, made sense. His hand wandered up to Cas’ face. He rubbed his stubble, like stroking a cat’s cheek. Jimmy moved his attention to Dean’s neck, and Dean seized the opportunity to pull Cas into his airspace, press his mouth to Cas’ pink lips. He dropped his hand from Cas’ jaw, grazed the tie. _Mmm, silk,_ Dean’s brain babbled. He fingered the sapphire fabric for a moment yet, enjoying the texture, the weight, imagining how it would feel on his wrists. Slowly his hand recalled its task, smoothed the tie flat, continued its southward journey to snag at the zipper of Cas’ slacks. Oh, damn the belt. Somehow, he managed to free his friend. He suddenly felt nervous: he wanted to give Cas pleasure, to make him happy, to make him smile and moan and scream, and yet he was afraid to fail.

In this pang of doubt, he heard Cas’ voice, but whether he spoke aloud or directly into Dean’s mind, he couldn’t say. “You have to begin. Hesitate, and we are both lost. Give me everything you have, and you will never fail me. Please, Dean. Dean, please.”

He began. He did not hesitate. He gave Cas everything. He could hear his friend, his Cas, calling his name, over and over again. Dean closed his eyes, listened enraptured, and his own voice joined, whimpering Cas’ name as his body shook in the afterglow.

From far away, Dean heard a knock on a door. _No, go away, I’m with my Cas. My Cas. MY Cas._

“Dean?” came the voice on the other side. 

His eyes flew open. The TV room, the couch, the three Castiels, had vanished, replaced with a spartan bedroom and, underneath him, a warm stickiness, threatening to seep into the memory foam. 

The voice called again. “May I come in, Dean? We do need to discuss our next step. I’ve brought coffee.”

“Is it just you?” Dean mumbled as loudly as he could muster.

“It’s just me.” 

_It’s just you. It’s always just you. Forever, just you._

Dean sat up, swiped a tissue across his fluttering stomach, and pulled on a pair of PJs. “Come on in; we got a lot to talk about.”


End file.
